From the Perspective of Another
by Lady Death of Nevada
Summary: My first crossover. Starring Francis Bonnefoy a.k.a. FRANCE! Enjoy!


Hey! This is my first crossover ever. The idea for it struck me like lightning from Zeus. I hope you enjoy it. It's based off of the episode 'The Eye of The Beholder' in case any of you want to see it; it's very good. And let the madness begin!

~O~o~O~

In a place trapped between the limits of time and space, you may and will find things originally unimaginable to the mind. You have just entered this place. You have just entered the Twilight Zone. Enjoy your stay; it'll be one you'll never forget.

~O~o~O~

We are found tonight at an event, one of many in a long line of events. A one Francis Bonnefoy joins us in a hospital, age twenty-six. Though he may not know it, it will likely soon become apparent to him that he has joined us, in the Twilight Zone.

~O~o~O~

Francis, a handsome young man of slightly above average intelligence, laid in his cot, gazing out the only window in the cramped room that he, unfortunately, had become so intimately acquainted to. Though his golden, soft, shoulder length locks fell into his face and his nearly non-existent stubble gave him the urge to scratch his chin, he laid perfectly still, not even blinking, partly because he had no intent in getting tangled in the mess of IV tubes attached to him. But also because he was in an awe-inspired daze as he stared at the shimmering city landscape that he could barely get a glimpse at, but seemed so vast to him, who hadn't been outside the hospital since his young age of five. He'd memorized every tiny detail of the view he'd been so kindly given by the hospital workers. Thoughts of everything, anything, and nothing ran through his beyond tired head.

Being spaced out, Francis didn't notice the approaching footsteps in the hall. Stepping into the room, Dr. Capet looked at his patient, sighing and plastering a smile onto his frowning face.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" He spoke clearly, trying to snap Francis out of his daze. He didn't move. But, then again, Mr. Bonnefoy had done this many times before; Capet knew that he was listening. Clearing his throat he began, "Your procedures are finished. We've been given the OK to take out your IVs." At these words, Francis' gaze was broken from the window, shifting immediately to the doctor. He stared in shock and pure joy at the doctor before quietly uttering the four words he'd been itching to ask since the day he'd stepped foot into this place.

"So I can leave?" Dr. Capet averted his eyes as his fake smile failed temporarily. He stared at his clipboard.

"Well…no. We still have to run some tests, check some things, see if what we did actually worked," Francis' face dropped.

"Oh, right. I forgot. My problem might not be fixed," His eyes fell to the floor before returning to the solace of the night lights of the nearby city.

"Not necessarily," Rushed the doctor, "There's a chance that it could have worked," Francis swallowed hard before giving Dr. Capet a hard, sorrowful look.

"Tell me, doctor. What are the chances of me being normal now? Please, don't lie, I want to know," He requested. Dr. Capet refused to look at Francis, so he instead stared across the room at the open door.

"There's a chance. There always is and always has been. And likewise, there's a chance that you'll be the same. That chance has also always remained,"

"I just want to be normal, doctor," Francis cried, newly formed tears shimmering in his blue eyes.

"I know," Doctor Capet soothed, "And hopefully our procedures have succeeded and you will be," He sat on the edge of the bed, taking his patient's hand in his own and hesitating, before, "But, if they…haven't…there's something I need to bring up with you." Francis looked up at the doctor imploringly, before he continued.

"If we haven't succeeded and you're…the same…then you know that we can't try any more times, correct?" Francis nodded, keeping his eyes on the doctor, "It wouldn't be fair to the rest of our patients, and you've already spent so much time with us. So we'll have discharge you from our care," He paused, looking for any sign of change in Francis' face. Upon finding none, he was forced to approach his point.

"So we have a wonderful place for you to go. A place with people who are just like you and a place where you can lead a great, full life," Francis' face remained the same for a few moments before a tiny smile cracked across his face, and with crazy eyes he began to laugh, almost like a madman.

"Oh, I get it. If I'm not fixed then I can't live with everyone else. Because I'm different, I'll have to live far away from everyone else because I'm such a disgusting piece of shit to them! They can't stand to look at me, but since they're normal and I'm the weird one, you send me away and let them continue their silly lives as judgmental bastards!" Francis' face was twisted in pure rage as he screamed at the doctor, nearly attacking him and attracting the audience of three nurses, who held him back and kept the doctor a safe distance away. But Francis still continued.

"You've kept me locked in this insolent place for twenty-one years just so that you can stick needles and tubes and medicine in me to try to fix me, you idiots failing time after time! And your genius idea is that once you fail again you shove me away from society with a bunch of other weirdoes in a ghetto!" His voice broke on the last note. His screaming had nearly caused him to lose his voice. He lay there for a few minutes, held prisoner against his cot, breathing hard as Dr. Capet stared at him, appalled. Staying a safe distance away, he told the nurses to loosen their grips on him. Carefully, making sure not to venture too close, he began again,

"You don't have to go. No one's forcing you if you don't want to. You could live with everyone else if you really wanted to. But with your condition, you wouldn't be able to get a job, or make money. You wouldn't be able to buy food or pay rent on a house or apartment. You'd probably die from starvation a homeless person on the side of the street. At this place, you'll be supported. They'll give you a home, food, clothing, and you'll be accepted. Besides, we don't know if it's worked or not yet. So tomorrow, we'd like to conduct a test on you to see if our efforts have paid off. Our nurses will escort you to the testing room." He dared go closer and, cupping Francis' hand in his own, finished, "We're all praying for your success,"

He led the nurses out of the room, and, with one final look back, turned out the lights in his room. Drowning in the darkness, Francis hung onto the dim lights of the city until he fell into sleep's grip.

Dressed in his actual clothes instead of a hospital gown, Francis was led through gray halls to a gray door in the middle of a gray basement in a gray hospital. And his heart was racing. All he could do was worry about the outcome of this experiment, if he'd be normal or the same weirdo that he'd been before. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the doors to see a wide, gray, cement room. He was immediately greeted by Dr. Capet, who led him to one side of the room, the empty side. The other side was occupied with a crowd of doctors and nurses, as well as one young man whose nervousness showed plainly on his face. In his sweaty palms he held a gun. The doctor quickly explained the procedures to Francis, who took off his shirt as the doctor had told him to, before taking his place with his associates. With a guilty, sad look on his face, Capet instructed the young man where to go, and once he was close enough to be 100% sure he wouldn't miss his target, Capet cleared his throat. His voice echoed through the room.

"Aim. Fire,"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" A bloodcurdling, gooseflesh-inducing cry of pain echoed sickeningly through the room, along with the dull sound of metal clanging to the floor. Clutching his breast in pain as blood leaked and dripped through his fingers, Francis fell to the ground, moaning and crying and screaming in awe-inducing pain. The bullet had gone straight through his breast, all the way through his heart, and out of his back, falling to the ground. The gunman stumbled away, nauseated with the sight he'd caused while the doctors watched their patient closely. Though he loathed it, and pain shot through his body as blood left his wound, he removed his hands from his chest as he'd been told to do. Still writhing in pain, he struggled to stay upright as something absolutely awesome (in the old meaning of the word) happened.

Right before their eyes, Francis' wound had begun to fix itself. The shredded skin grew back, stopping any more blood from dripping out of his veins, which repaired themselves, joining back together, and though he was still covered in blood, Francis was perfectly fine. It was as if the bullet had never made contact with his flesh.

"Failure!" The doctors shouted in anger, frustration, and disgust as Francis realized what this had meant. He relaxed as he took it all in, before he stood back up. And he ran.

He shot out of the door, chasing no one down the halls, running anywhere, trying to escape his cruel fate. He could hear the doctors and nurses screaming his name, calling for him to stop and come back, but he ignored them as his adrenaline made him run faster than he'd ever thought he could, pushing him around corners at terrifying speeds. But the crowd was catching up to him. Desperate, he reached for the first door he could find and wrenched it open, running into a young man and falling to the ground in tears. The man reached for a towel he'd been supplied with and hugged Francis with it, carefully wiping the blood from his skin as he held Francis and whispered words of comfort to him.

The door again burst open to Dr. Capet, completely out of breath. He smiled at the sight.

"Well this makes things easier. It seems that you've run right to him. Mr. Bonnefoy, this is a representative from the place that I told you about. I'd like you to meet Mr. Arthur Kirkland. He'll be escorting you to the town and answering any questions you may have for him. I'll be waiting outside the door to help you pack when you're done." And he left the room, softly shutting the door. Francis looked up at the man, apparently named Arthur, and gave him a pleading look.

"Please. Please don't make me go. Please," Arthur gave him a soothing smile, wiping at his tears with the towel.

"Listen. I know that it seems scary at first, but you'll get used to it. Everyone there is like us, and they're all very kind. Well, most of them are…but that's a different story!" He added at Francis' nearly-scared-to-death look. Since Francis was nearly blood-free, he drew him into a sweet hug.

"So you're like me, too?" He asked timidly.

"Yes, that's right. I can't die either. And neither can the people at the place I'm going to take you to," He replied. Francis looked like a child in Arthur's arms as he looked at him, begging for more information.

"How many other people are there?" He continued.

"Oh, it's got to be a good twenty-five or thirty, more or less,"

"What are they like?" At this, Arthur laughed a bit.

"They're all quite different, really." Francis nodded, asking him to go on, "Like Alfred. He's crazy, really, a hyperactive idiot. But in a good way. He's really fun to be around, even if he does stuff his face all of the time. But then there are people that are polar opposites from him, like Matthew. Most people don't even realize he's there he's so quiet. And he's kind to everyone, wouldn't hurt a fly. And then there are people completely different from both of them, like Ivan. He seems pretty innocent when you first see him, but he's kind of crazy. In a bad way. But he still finds ways to be very kind to people, especially his sisters, Katyusha and Natalia. They were very rare, a whole family of our kind, save for their parents."

Francis was in awe at Arthur, "How long have you been there?"

"Since I was sixteen," He answered, "I'm twenty-five now. But there are people who've been there for much longer. A boy named Ludwig was sent when he was five along with his elder brother, Gilbert, who was six at the time. Now they're twenty and twenty-two. The same happened to Feliciano and his brother, Lovino. They're Ludwig and Gilbert's age, but they came when they were ten. And one girl (we call her Monaco since she's from there) named Emilie has been there since she was an infant. She was born three months early, with lots of birth defects. Her heart even stopped for an hour. But within a day, all of her problems were gone, and she was fine. Her parents realized then that there was something wrong with her, and when the doctor told them of her problem, they shipped her off right away."

Francis was filled with a mix of empathy and sympathy for these people, before he asked the one question that'd been bugging him forever, "Has anyone ever died?" A frown replaced Arthur's vivid smile at these words.

"Yes, only two. There was a Roman man; he'd been around since the hayday of the Roman Empire. One day, he went to the beach with a Germanian (yes, Germanian) man who he'd known since birth, and the Germanian came back, but the Roman never did. It turned out that he'd drowned far out at sea, and no one had been able to save him. So he'd sunk to the bottom of the ocean and died. A few months later, the Germanian maimed himself so badly that he couldn't be fixed, and killed himself so he could join his friend. I'd just come to the town under a month before this, so I didn't know either of them very well."

There was a thick, awkwardness in the air after this story. Francis didn't know what to say, so he spit out, "Who's the oldest?" Arthur's smiled returned as he chuckled.

"That'd be Yao. He's four thousand years old, but doesn't look a day over twenty-six. He's seen the world change a million times, and he's been at the camp since his one hundred and thirteenth birthday. When he came, the Germanian and the Roman were the only others there," Francis smiled at the thought. A four thousand year old man who still looked to be in his twenties. What a marvelous idea.

The door was suddenly opened by Dr. Capet, who joined Francis and Arthur in the room.

"Are you ready?" He asked. Francis froze as his fear returned to him, but Arthur squeezed his hand and assured him,

"Don't worry. I'll be here the whole time," Francis, after pondering this comment, slowly nodded.

"Yes, I'm ready," He stood up and wrapped his torso in the towel, shaking hands with the doctor.

"It's been a pleasure knowing you. I hope you have a great life," Dr. Capet smiled at him, and the smile was genuine for the first time in a long time.

"The same to you," He replied, as, clutching Arthur's hand, he walked out of the room and through the hallways, up to his room so that he could pack for his new life.

~O~o~O~

In what kind of world are people capable of living for centuries at a time, and maybe even longer? And in what kind of world are people shunned and put away for being different? Well, the answer is simple. In the world, of the Twilight Zone.


End file.
